Runaway
by im-rogue-storm
Summary: I've never had a home before in my entire life. I've lived in a car with my so-called mother, who's put me through Hell and back. Now that I've run away, I've been kidnapped by these evil mutants who want me to help them kill the X-Men-the only family I'v
1. PreludePart One

Ok. I'm trying something new. I'm going to do a new style of writing that I've never done before, but that I really enjoy. It's rated R for very good reason (this story is basically all of my nightmares wrapped up into an X-men fic; yes, it does get into X-Men soon) so if you don't think you can handle this, then DON'T READ IT. I could tell you to review, but that would just annoy you and waste my time, so I won't. It's your choice completely. Besides, I'm writing this story because I enjoy it and it's therapeutic. However, if you DO decide to review. *everyone chants along* No flames or mean reviews or you will be publicly HUMLILIATED. Thank you! Enjoy!  
  
Prelude-  
  
They never even found me.  
  
Stupid cops.  
  
Lousy, if you ask me.  
  
Hardly did their jobs.  
  
Attacked the car like a serial killer was lodged in there, smashed the windows in, glanced around, and then left, saying I was missing.  
  
Duh.  
  
You think?  
  
By then, I was LONG gone, Baby.  
  
LONG gone.  
  
By then, I was half a day's walk north, about five miles west of Central Park, sitting in a McDonald's and eating a BigMac with some money I stole from my 'talented' mom.  
  
Don't go judging me now, ok?  
  
I'm not a bad kid.  
  
I'm not a punk off the street who steals money and sleeps around with everyone.  
  
That's my mom.  
  
She got pregnant with me at sixteen, dropped out of highschool, earns a living 'making men's dreams come true', and beats the living crap out of me when she's drunk and high.  
  
At least she used to beat the holy crap out of me.  
  
Then I just snapped and ran off.  
  
I just grabbed some money out of the car and beat it.  
  
I was sixteen then, determined to be a better person then dear old mommy.  
  
Anyway, while I was eating my sandwich and drinking my water (I don't do pop-sorry), I was kind of laughing at those loser cops who had suddenly come on the news and were talking about how they were desperately searching for me and how they WOULD help me, no matter what it took. Then my mom came on, all weepy and tearful, and started talking about how dear I was to her and how awful life would be without 'her baby girl'.  
  
Then it showed shots of the mutilated car and a bloody mess inside (turns out I was a suspected murder victim-cool)  
  
I giggled, shook my head, and lowered my hood closer to my face when some weird man looked over at me.  
  
Ok, truth be told, I was terrified.  
  
I was ready to start bawling and run back to mom, even if she would beat me to within an inch of my life.  
  
I didn't know my next step.  
  
I had no clue as to where I was going.  
  
All I had were the clothes I was wearing, some-hundred dollars.and some other things that I was trying to figure out.  
  
I just had to get out of there before.  
  
Well.before mom made me into what she was.  
  
I guess the entire reason I left was because of the conversation my mom had forced on me the night before.  
  
The night had been an ok one; mom had gotten good jobs and I had only been hit a few times. We were eating at Taco Bell, sitting across from each other and pretty much trying to remain inconspicuous (at least I was; mom was flirting with men embarrassingly enough).  
  
Suddenly, Mom cleared her throat and looked at me and forced a smile, which she never does.  
  
I smiled back and kept eating, averting my gaze, knowing something BIG was happening.  
  
Finally, mom spills the beans, "You know, Sweetie, we're.sorta low on cash."  
  
"Yea?" I took a sip of water, "How so?"  
  
"I.haven't been getting many.costumers."  
  
"Then where you been all day? Shopping?"  
  
"Don't start sassing me," she said softly, dangerously, and I closed my mouth, chewing.  
  
Mom tried again, "What I mean is.I.could use some help."  
  
I glanced at her, "Want me to go around wearing I sign that says, 'My mom's a whore, get some while you can'?"  
  
Mom glared at me and snapped, "No!"  
  
I shrugged, "What?"  
  
"What I WANT is.I want a partner.someone to.to help me with the.the men."  
  
I stared at her numbly, "What?"  
  
Mom swallowed her food and took a drink before continuing, "I want you to help me with the men."  
  
"Like what? Give them feet massages?  
  
Mom stared at me coldly, "Don't pretend to be stupid, Rachael."  
  
"I don't have to pretend. It's in my genes."  
  
Mom reached across the table and slapped me, hard, across the face.  
  
The Taco Bell was almost deserted, save one old man who was snoring in the corner, so no one noticed when I almost toppled from my chair from the impact of my mom's blow.  
  
Tears of pain stung my eyes and I blinked them back, lifting my fingers to my now-bleeding lip.  
  
I took in a sharp breath and sighed, sitting up slowly and keeping my gaze on my taco.  
  
My mom continued as though nothing had happened, "Men like younger girls. It's just the way they are. You know this. It'll only be for a while. Maybe three weeks."  
  
"Yea."  
  
"It won't be as bad as last time."  
  
"I know."  
  
I picked up my taco and tried to take a bite, but I couldn't; just the thought of 'last time' made throbbing bile rise in my throat.  
  
I set my food down and stood, "I'll meet you in the car."  
  
That was the end of the discussion.  
  
That's usually how all of our conversations end: With her hitting me and me saying "I'll meet you in the car".  
  
The last time she hit me she actually kind of whaled on me and left a few bruises. She was 'on the job' and I interrupted; she can't stand that. She loses pay.  
  
I really didn't mean to.  
  
I was trying to tell her that she'd left her clothes in the car.  
  
She turned to her customer (some old, fat guy I don't even want to TRY to remember) and grabbed me by the shoulder, hard, fingers digging into my bare skin as she steered me into the hallway.  
  
"What are you DOING?" she hissed, grabbing my arms and shaking me, "I told you NEVER to come in while I'm working!"  
  
"I know, Mom," I said, "I know. I just-"  
  
"Don't you EVER listen?!?"  
  
"Mom, I-"  
  
"You've always been such a rebel, always refusing to listen-"  
  
By then she'd started bashing me, fists pelting my face, and I'd held my arms up to protect myself, stammering between blows, "Mom.Mom, wait.I.you left."  
  
"Don't ever let me see you while I'm working, Rachael! Never!"  
  
"Ok, Mom!"  
  
My nose was bleeding freely onto the arms I held against my face, my already-tangled hair a matted mess in my wounded face.  
  
"Good."  
  
Mom gave me a final shove against the wall for good measure and, turning on her heel, walked back into the hotel room.  
  
I stayed in the hallway for a second, finally letting myself cry, ignoring the pain throbbing throughout my body, and then I went back to the car and just sobbed face-down on the seats (that's why there was so much blood).  
  
Now, I have two personalities, not like split personalities, but like two completely attached personalities that are the same person. Both of them are extremes, and with different people I'm different mixtures of both.  
  
One is a total rebel, one of those wild child types who walks down the street and seems to attract trouble like a magnet does metal.  
  
The other is a shy, sweet one, almost like one of those really lovable, bashful little kids you see hiding behind their mother's skirts at church. The one who's afraid of everything  
  
At that moment, for the first time, I went completely rebel.  
  
I had to.  
  
It was a survival thing.  
  
I looked up and just attained it, pushing my charming side aside, refusing suddenly to listen to anyone or be afraid of anything.  
  
It was surprisingly easy.  
  
I just reached into the junk drawer of the car, grabbed a bundle of cash, stuffed it into my pockets, pulled out a jacket, and ran.  
  
And that's how I got to the McDonald's for dinner.  
  
And that's how I saw the police report and saw how I was a suspected murder victim.  
  
I liked all the attention, but hated the media.  
  
I didn't want to be found.  
  
I wanted to be left alone.  
  
I just wanted to be able to be alone forever and control my own life. I wanted to just find a safe place (yea, I was a rebel, but that quiet, shy kid was still a part of me. I was scared) where I could settle down, find a job, and eventually go to school.  
  
One thing I knew, I was not letting the state get a hold of me.  
  
I was not going to a foster home, or an orphanage.  
  
And most definitely not my mother.  
  
Never my mother.  
  
I was alone now.  
  
The only person I could trust was myself.  
  
I stood from my chair at McDonalds and threw away my trash, pulling my jacket tighter around me as the cold New York wind greeted me.  
  
  
  
I'm not going to lie to you.  
  
I cried that first night on the streets.  
  
I cried so hard my jacket was soaked in minutes and my head throbbed in agony.  
  
I sobbed myself to sleep under an interstate bridge and didn't wake up until dawn.  
  
The good thing was, I didn't chicken out and crawl home, groveling, to Mommy.  
  
No way.  
  
I kept my head and woke up feeling actually a lot better (dark nights and cold winds can do stuff to a kid) and walked for another two miles before stopping at some cheap trucker's stop for breakfast.  
  
After putting up with a few snide remarks and rude comments, I left that place feeling sick (the food there had to be seventy-five percent oil) and headed downtown.  
  
Now, just try to imagine yourself in my place.  
  
You've just run away from your no-good, lousy mother, you've got more cash than you've ever had in your life, you've just freshened up at a rest area, and you're in downtown New York City.  
  
How do you feel?  
  
That's what I thought.  
  
Needless to say, I was more than a little ecstatic as I boarded the crowded subway, unable to stop smiling.  
  
My adrenaline just wouldn't stop pumping! There were hundreds of people around me at all times, so I knew I was safe (if not about to be trampled), everywhere I turned there was something to do, I had cash in my pocket, it was a nice day, and I basically felt great.  
  
That day was the best day I'd had in my sixteen years of existence.  
  
I went where I wanted to go, ate what I wanted to eat, bought what I wanted to buy, slept where I wanted to sleep, and talked to whom I wanted to speak to.  
  
I had no hateful mom to push me around and make me feel miserable.  
  
I had no stupid, smelly men to wake me up during my naps (I slept in this great bookstore where this nice lady gave me some hot chocolate when I woke up; with Mom, whenever I took a nap in a car, one of her customers would come by and bang on the windows, demanding a refund).  
  
I was freer then I had ever been in my life, and I loved it.  
  
By the end of that day, I'd spent more money then I'd ever spent, had more fun then I'd ever had, and slept better then I'd ever slept.  
  
It was sheer bliss.  
  
Too bad it had to end, cuz that night was Hell.  
  
Or worse.  
  
After-hours, New York City has got to be one of the SCARIEST places on earth, and I'm not exaggerating.  
  
All of the nice (if not pushy and rushing) businesspeople go home and are replaced by the homeless, the 'crazies', the prostitutes, and the murderers.  
  
When I walked down the street that night, a ton of shadowy men whistled at me from the shadows and yelled at me to "come 'ere", but I ignored them and picked up the pace, trying to deafen my ears to the distant screams a few blocks away.  
  
They were quite a few scantily dressed women who laughed as I passed by and even grabbed my shoulder as I passed, saying, "Hey, whatcha doin' out this late, Baby? Wanna job? Huh? We'll get you one. Lotsa men would like YOU."  
  
I tore away from them as they roared with laughter and raced down an alley, looking over my shoulder.  
  
There were a ton of drunken and drugged-up people back there, but they didn't notice as I ran past. A few teenage boys were fighting, yelling profanity as I passed and breaking bottles on the walls next to me.  
  
My heart was pounding out of my chest by that time and I was gasping for breath, my rebel attitude slipping away and being quickly replaced by the scared one.  
  
Before I'd even slipped away from the alley, a middle-aged, unshaven man reached out and grabbed me.  
  
I stifled a scream and swallowed, watching him anxiously as he lowered his head drunkenly to mine and slurred, "There's a.a.a man.a goat.man."  
  
"A.goat man?"  
  
"NO!"  
  
"No?"  
  
"A man.bad goat.DON"T TALK TO ME LIKE THAT!!!" he yelled over his shoulder to blank air.  
  
I looked at the space he was gazing at, "There's no one there."  
  
He shook me desperately, "Tell them to go away!"  
  
I blinked, and then cleared my throat, "Ok.go away."  
  
"Not me! Them!"  
  
"Go away."  
  
"Over there!"  
  
By then, he was shaking me so hard that I couldn't focus.  
  
"You're.hurting.me.!"  
  
"STOP FOLLOWING ME!" the man shrieked, and then he threw me to the ground and took off, screaming.  
  
Before I could even begin to get to my feet, another hand dropped on my shoulder, and then a gravely voice growled, "Get in the car now."  
  
My head swam with confusion as my eyes settled on a nearby gray car, "Who are YOU?"  
  
"Get in the car!"  
  
"Let me go!"  
  
I was lifted to my feet and roughly shoved forward as the voice hissed in my ear, "Get in now, or I'll spill your guts."  
  
I felt cool metal on my side.  
  
I struggled to get away, but his other hand came up and clamped over my mouth, pulling me over to the vehicle.  
  
I'd never been in the situation of being kidnapped before, but my instincts screamed at me, so I savagely stepped back on the man's foot and kicked him, hard, in what I suspected to be his gut.  
  
It wasn't.  
  
He swore loudly, dropping me and falling to his knees, hands clasping.uh.I think you know.  
  
I didn't even pause to kick him again; I simply scrambled to my feet and ran, ignoring his livid calls and warnings.  
  
Eventually, I found a dumpster behind an old, abandoned building and I collapsed behind it, breathing hard as I drew my knees up to my chest.  
  
"It's ok," I told myself, "They're gone. No one can hurt me. No one."  
  
I burst into tears.  
  
It had been maybe two hours and I'd already been attacked by almost half a dozen people. How was I supposed to survive on the streets if I coulnd;t even make it for a night?  
  
It was at that moment that I most considered calling my mom's cell phone and going back home. I just wanted a safe place to stay. I just wanted a familiar face, a warm bed (or car), and protection.  
  
However, I didn't have time even to properly consider that thought, as my fatigue eventually caught up with me and I slumped to the ground, dead asleep.  
  
  
  
The wind bit at her tender, young skin like icy needles, driving stinging pinpricks into her bare arms and legs as she stumbled after her mother, wiping away the tears still fresh on her cheeks.  
  
As they entered the cheap hotel, she sniffled, her unshed tears blocking her throat as her mother spoke to the person at the front desk.  
  
In an instant, her hand was gripped by her mother's again and she was dragged down the hallway, numbered doors flashing past in a blur.  
  
Her heart trilled weakly against her ribs as her mother stopped before a door and, after reading the number, smiled and nodded assuredly, "This is it."  
  
Then she turned to her trembling daughter and kneeled before her, straightened her hair, "Now, just remember to do like I said and don't make him mad. Don't settle for less then two hundred, since we made a special trip up here, and don't let him know this is your first time. Understand?"  
  
The child nodded slowly, tears trickling down her cheeks.  
  
She wiped them away hurriedly, bile pounding in her throat.  
  
Her mother lifted her chin with her hand, "Rachael, no tears. He'll lessen the pay. Don't let him know you're afraid. Just do the job. We need this money."  
  
"Why can't you do it, Mommy?" Rachael whispered softly.  
  
"I told you, men like younger girls!" snapped her mother.  
  
"But, Mommy, you're young, and really pretty. Lots more then me."  
  
"Nonsense. Look in that mirror and tell me you aren't pretty. Go on, look."  
  
The mother roughly lifted her daughter up and pushed her towards a floor-to- ceiling mirror, where the girl shyly examined herself, frowning; how could this be her?  
  
The pale, small girl in the mirror looked nothing like her.  
  
Heavy makeup, scanty clothes, and long curled hair.  
  
She was used to a tousled-haired, baggy-clothed, plain little girl looking back at her from the mirror.  
  
Slowly, she lifted up her hand and touched her face; her reflection did the same.  
  
She didn't like this.  
  
A loud sob erupted from her mouth, and her mom immediately grabbed her and shook her harshly, "Stop that! We don't have time for this, we're already late! Stop that nonsense, get in there, and get the money!"  
  
With a sharp slap and a rushed wiping of her face, the child was thrust into the dimly-lit room, eyes wide and body shaking.  
  
It was a dingy, dark room that smelled strongly of liquor and smoke and was littered with dirty clothes and beer bottles.  
  
The child swallowed hard and took a tentative step forward, trying not to stumble over her shaking legs.  
  
On a large, unmade bed was an overweight, unshaven man of about forty with graying hair, frayed jeans, and a remote in his hand.  
  
Rachael swallowed back a wail and cleared her throat softly, trying to look sexy.  
  
The man glanced up and grinned, showing yellow teeth, "Hey, lookit you. You the 'entertainment' I was promised?"  
  
Slowly, Rachael nodded.  
  
"Well, good."  
  
The man shifted, setting the remote on the end table and turning to face the girl before him, "How old are you?"  
  
"T-ten."  
  
The male chuckled, "Well, that'll do just fine."  
  
Rachael slowly took a step back as the man stood and came towards her, reaching over her to lock the door.  
  
"My.my boss said that.that I was too.that you weren't to.go all the way."  
  
At those words, the man actually laughed, throwing his head back and advancing on Rachael menacingly, "DID she say that, now?!?"  
  
Rachael nodded, "Yes. Cuz.cuz I'm too young to.to do that."  
  
The men stopped before her, placing his hands on either side of her head and leaning down to face her, "Well, I guess since I'm the customer I should decide that, right?"  
  
His breath smelled strongly of beer, and Rachael recoiled from him, turning and scrabbling for the doorknob; she knew already that it weas locked, but her brain had screamed at her to try SOMETHING.  
  
"Mommy! MOMMY!"  
  
In an instant his large arms were around her waist and she was hoisted up and carried away, screaming, and thrown onto the bed.  
  
  
  
I don't suppose that you've ever had nightmares like that one, right? There really isn't much reason for you to have had one, and if you have, I'm very sorry.  
  
There just isn't raison d'être for a teenager to have dreams like that.  
  
Well, I did that night.  
  
I did that night, and I did the night after, and the night after that.  
  
It was exactly the same, in the same order, with the exact same words and sights and sounds and smells.  
  
Now, why on earth would a sixteen year old girl have a dream like that?  
  
Well, I told you my mom was a prostitute, and I told you that I ran away because of the so-called 'conversation' we had at Taco Bell.  
  
Well, that dream wasn't fake; it's a 'repressed memory', as shrinks would say.  
  
Yea, it really happened to me.  
  
Yea, I was ten years old, yea my mom forced me to do it, and yea I was raped.  
  
I hate even writing that word.  
  
I never want to relieve that experience, and when my mom said I was going to, my mind kind of snapped.  
  
I was willing to do almost anything to get out of that situation.  
  
You don't have to feel sorry for me (you can if you WANT, but you don't have to), because I've kinda gotten over it now.  
  
Of course, back then I hadn't.  
  
Back then, I had that dream and I woke up with cold sweat trickling down my back and tears streaming down my cheeks and screams caught in my throat.  
  
I had no one to hold me while I trembled under bridges or next to trashcans or in abandoned cars (I got lucky enough once). I just sat by myself and cried, trying hard to forget about that night, wishing that it had never happened, praying that someone would just care enough about me to help me.  
  
No one did. You can't really expect them to; they didn't know I existed.  
  
I was a homeless, almost invisible teen amongst the who-knows-how-many million others in New York City.  
  
I eventually toughened up, like I had when I'd lived with my mom, and I got along fine by myself for the first week or so alone.  
  
The dreams stopped, I found better places to sleep, I stopped getting attacked, and I basically survived.  
  
If no one else took care of me, I'd take care of myself.  
  
I'd figured that out after that night in the hotel with that man.  
  
My mom never did come in to save me.  
  
I came out sobbing and bleeding and thinking I was going to die, but all Mom cared about was that I'd gotten her five hundred dollars (the man had paid extra so she wouldn't sue).  
  
I was forced to grow up by living with my mom.  
  
I mean, I was born in a car, fed with a beer bottle (don't worry, it was still milk), and dressed with stolen clothes.  
  
So, I guess you might say I've never been a kid before. I've never gotten to play with dolls (not that I really want to) or splash in rain puddles (never had time to) or just sit in my mom's lap and have a good cry (with MY mom?!?).  
  
I turned thirty when I was five, and I've never changed since.  
  



	2. PreludePart 2

Hi Folks.  
  
How is everyone? I'm doing ok. Got my first flame yesterday though. Boy, did it ever make me mad/sad/confused/hurt. Those things SUCK! Ok. I feel better now. *grins*  
  
Pendragon: Wow, thanx for the review! Glad you like this. Not exactly certain how it'll go, but I'll keep it up, ok? *grins* I really like your username. Very original and cool!  
  
Twistedmind*: Hey, I know you're reading this, even if you're not reviwing, so I wanted to say HI and keep up the great work on Change for a Dollar (a MUST read for any of ya'll out there readin' this!)  
  
And now, we continue:  
  
Disclaimer: Yes, I did forget this in the first chapter, however, no one can sue me, because I have it now. I do not own the X-Men, or any of their affiliations (such as Lady Mastermind, Emma Frost, etc.). They all belong to the geniuses at Marvel. I DO however own Rachael and a few others, so just ask me before using them, K?  
  
The night sky was alive, dancing and twirling with lights and noise, alight with flames and illumination, completely re-made and re-produced to have a Hollywood effect.  
  
The stars above were hazy with cigarette smoke, the velvety sky wrinkled and dizzy with heat. All along the small, dirty street people were gathered, dancing and singing raucously, drunkenly shouting to one another in greeting and shoving each other while laughing hysterically.  
  
Every person there was eighteen or older, except for a few juniors and seniors form the local highschool who'd managed to sneak out of their rooms to party.  
  
The youngest person there was a small six-year-old girl who stayed against a back wall, hands clutched at her sides, eyes wide with confusion and anxiety. She was used to her mother's Saturday night outings, but she hated them all the same. She nervously reached out and tugged on her young mother's short leather skirt, "Mommy? Mommy, can I wait in the car?"  
  
Of course, her hesitant voice was drowned out by the loud braying of the drunk party-goers.  
  
The child sat back and bit her lip, watching in disgust as a fill-grown man began slurring stupidly about how he'd robed a bank earlier in the day; he was bound ot get caught if he didn't keep his voice down.  
  
All down the street, lanterns were lit and teenagers smoked, filling the dark alleys with flickering dots of light that went from their mouths to the street in minutes.  
  
The child tried again, latching onto her mother's very-exposed leg, "Mommy? Mommy, I wanna go in the car. Can I please, Mommy?"  
  
Her mother pushed her away as she continued speaking to the group assembled before her; she was talking about one of her 'career' experiences.  
  
"Mommy, I wanna go in the car-"  
  
Her mother raised her voice, annoyed, casting her daughter a furious glare.  
  
The girl slumped to the ground, defeated, wrapping her arms around her knees and leaning against her mom's legs with a sad sigh; she wished she could get as much as attention as her mother did.  
  
Somewhere nearby, somebody turned up the volume on a boom box, and music began throbbing through the crowd, pulsing through them and causing a wave of dancing to ripple through them.  
  
The child stood as her mother began dancing with a man nearby and stumbled over to a clear space, crossing her arms and leaning back; she knew better than to stay in the midst of a dance party.  
  
Someone as small as her could get killed.  
  
She seriously considered forgetting about her mom and going over to the car by herself, but she knew that the stupidity of her decision would only get her killed anyway, so she simply stayed where she was, watching her mother.  
  
In reality, her mom was a very beautiful woman; the kind of femme fatale any man would fall for.  
  
Her body was slender and tall, somehow managing to stay shaped through years of drug use, smoking, and drinking. She had a long, oval face with full scarlet lips and a heart-stopping smile.  
  
Her eyelashes fenced in great, deep pools of blue that shone with mischief and hid secrets that no one could quite find out. Her hair was long and sleek, falling back fomr her face in a ebony cascade. As she danced with the stranger, the child slowly let her head hang; she would never be beautiful like her mom.  
  
Never.  
  
She had gotten her looks from her father.  
  
She was short, with her baby fat still clinging desperately to her form. Her face was round and chubby, often tinged slightly red. Her hair was always cut just below her ears and hung in auburn curls, mostly hiding the one feature she had inherited form her gorgeous mother: her eyes.  
  
Those dark, secretive, jade eyes that made everyone stop deasd in their tracks when they actually caught a glimpse of them.  
  
But they hardly did.  
  
The child was known to keep her head down as her chubby little hand clutched her mother's slim fingers while they walked down the street; she was ashamed.  
  
Ashamed of her looks, of her personality, of her voice, of herself.  
  
She loathed herself.  
  
And she didn't know why.  
  
IN the midst of the young girl's disturbing thoughts, her mother came over, gasping and flushed with excitement, fanning herself as she sat down next to her daughter, "Having fun."  
  
Slowly the girl shook her head, "I wanna go in the car, Mommy."  
  
"Why?"  
  
"There's too many people."  
  
Her mother scoffed, waving her daughter's worries away with a sweep of her hand, "Quit your anxieties. I have great news."  
  
Slowly, the woman leaned forward, lifting her daughter's face up and smiling broadly, "I got a costumer tonight, Rachael! Isn't that great?!?"  
  
Rachael forced an ecstatic grin, "That's great, Mom."  
  
Her mother cocker her head, frowning slightly as she brushed a curl away from her daughter's eyes, "You know what?"  
  
"What?"  
  
"I.I think you have.my eyes."  
  
Rachael's heart leapt, her blood rushing to her cheeks, her eyes shining brightly in hope, "R-really? I do?"  
  
Her mom nodded slowly, biting her lip, "Yes.but that's all. You're too chubby a thing to look much like me. You're definitely your father's girl."  
  
Rachael's face fell and she averted her gaze, blinking back tears, "I know."  
  
"You know something, I think we need to put you on a diet. You just keep gaining more and more weight, no matter what I do. And your hair is just impossible!" her mother exclaimed, grabbing a handful of the bouncy locks and letting them fall into place, "Their like mattress springs!"  
  
Rachael nodded in agreement, "I know."  
  
"And I really hope your freckles go away. Men just don't go for freckles."  
  
By then, her mom had stood and was joining another man at a nearby bar.  
  
Rachael slowly stood and wandered over to the quietest part of the street, where almost no one was. Once there, she allowed a few warm tears to trickle down her plump, freckled cheeks.  
  
She knew that she would never measure up to her mother's standards.  
  
She was worthless.  
  
Slowly, she glanced into a nearby mirror, where a few women were fixing their hair.  
  
An ugly, too-fat girl stared back.  
  
Rachael's face collapsed in an explosion of sobs and she turned, collapsing on a nearby chair and covering her face with her hands.  
  
The self-loathing she felt was just too powerful for her size, and it was overwhelming to a point of exhaustion.  
  
At one point, the nearby women stared at her, clicked their tongues, babbled some, and then walked away, but Rachael never noticed; she was too enveloped in her misery.  
  
It wasn't until a light, gentle touch landed on her shoulder that she looked up, tears still streaming down her face.  
  
Before her stood a young man, maybe older teens, with disheveled brown hair and concerned green eyes.  
  
What Rachael noticed was the too-big brown trench coat he wore over his clothes.  
  
The man kneeled next to her, immediately holding her face between his hands and wiping her tears away with his thumbs, "Eh, now, what's all dis about? Why you cryin'?"  
  
Raised the way she was, with a mother who could care less about her, Rachael had never learned not to talk to strangers, so she tearfully replied, "I.I just.I'm tired of bein' so ugly!"  
  
The man looked truly surprised at her response, and he smiled kindly, "Eh, now, who told you dat you ugly? You gotta be da prettiest ting I ever see round here."  
  
Rachael stared at him, stunned; was he blind?  
  
She asked him honestly, "Are you blind, Mister?"  
  
The man laughed, "No, no, I see fine. I not blind. And none o' dat mista stuff. Call me Gambit."  
  
"Ok, Gambit."  
  
"Listen, now, Missy, you no way ugly. Whoever say dat is either blind, dumb, or jealous. Or maybe all three."  
  
Rachael giggled slightly, sniffling.  
  
"You just listen to Gambit and know dat you da prettiest ting dis side o' the Pacific."  
  
"I am?" Rachael asked doubtfully, glancing back in the mirror.  
  
Gambit nodded urgently, "Oh yes. Defintely. And believe me, I seen quite a few pretty little tings, but none o' dem quite match up to you, Missy."  
  
Rachael turned to him, beaming broadly, a strange warmth spreading form her chest to her cheeks.  
  
Gambit grinned and winked at her, leaning forward and kissing her cheek.  
  
Rachael tilted her head to the side, touching her face, "What was that for?"  
  
"Dat? Dat was a kiss, Silly."  
  
"How come I got one?"  
  
"Cuz you just da prettiest ting, and I wanna be able to tell all my friends dat I got to kiss you."  
  
Gambit laughed, and then turning Rachael, pointed at the mirror, "You see dat mark on your cheek, Cherie?"  
  
Rachael nodded, "YWhere you kissed me?The brown one?"  
  
"Yea. Dat a sunkiss. Dat'll never go away, cuz it means dat you day prettiest. And it means dat every boy gonna go after you when da time comes."  
  
Rachael grinned, touching the mark on her cheek and facing Gambit, "Thank you, Gambit."  
  
"You welcome. Now, you get back to your mommy and you remember what I told you, ok?"  
  
Rachael nodded, excitement coursing through her veins as she raced through the crowds, the mark on her cheek seeming to burn with some kind of newfound beauty.  
  
  
  
Did you think that story was corny?  
  
Well, too bad.  
  
That night changed my life.  
  
I went form completely hating myself to thinking I was maybe at least better than my mom (especially after she slapped me for wandering off and told me that the 'sunkiss' was just a splotch of mud; it never did go away, by the way).  
  
For the first few years of my life (and maybe even for a few years after that night) I had zero self-confidence and no pride in myself.  
  
I thought I was the worst person ever.  
  
And then Gambit changed my life.  
  
I don't know who he is or where he is or even if he's just something I made up in my six-year-old mind, but he changed my life.  
  
  
  
After my first week alone, I was pretty much a pro at street living.  
  
I knew where the best places to sleep were, where people would give me free food (and where they would scream at me and attempt to beat me up if I asked for free food), where the cheapest clothes and shoes were, where the weirdoes of the city were (they were everywhere if you're curious), and even where the best restrooms were (you'd be surprised; some are just totally worth a half mile's walk).  
  
I had set up a nice little space for myself in this mutilated section under a interstate bridge. No one bigger than me could possibly enter into it, but it was very roomy once you got inside. It was like crawling though an oversized mouse hole and into a cave.  
  
Inside, I had set up a few blankets (I'd bought some and dug a few out of the garbage; yea, they stunk, but I wads desperate) for my bed, bought a backpack with my clothes in them, gotten a few nonperishable food items (you know, like bread and bread and bread and fruit and bread and jam and bread and peanut butter...needless to say, I lived on PBJs for quite a while), some bathroom stuff, a basin of water, and even a few books (I stole them from the library.so kill me! I was BORED!).  
  
I had myself I pretty nice place-it was safe, dry, not to hot or cold, it had food and a bed.it was great. Plus, no adult (or anyone above 5'') could possibly squeeze their way into my little 'cubby'.  
  
So imagine my surprise when one night, during a terrible thunderstorm, I crawled into my home to find a group of menacing-looking women standing in my 'house'.  
  
One of them smiled demonically at me, walking fluidly forward with a rope in her hand, "Welcome home, Rachael. We've been expecting you."  
  



	3. PreludePart 3

Allo, allo everyone!  
  
Sorry it took me so long to update; a close family friend lost her daughter in a car crash, so I've been helping her out and trying to keep from bawling. Plus I'm grounded form the internet unless I have parentals in the room, so you know how it is... *sigh*  
  
But I'm doing better now. How are all of you? Doing well I hope?  
  
Pendragon: Hello, dear! How are you? LOVE the review! TOTALLY made my day! I read it whenever I'm down, teehee. *smiles big* HEY EVERYONE! PENDRAGON CALLED ME 'LUV'! YAY! ( LOL. Yes, you can attack my flamer if you'd like. Not sure how much it would affect her, though, as I think she's gone right now. LOL. Anyway, thank you for the awesome reviews! I'm writing this for you, as I don't believe anyone else is reading it except for Twistedmind. (  
  
So, everyone, enjoy!  
  
Dedicated to: Pendragon, who always manages to bring a smile to my face, and Twsitedmind, who's somehow gotten me to see Mystique in a new light.  
  
  
  
Have you ever watched one of those nature shows that feature wolves when they hunt?  
  
The big dogs stalk their prey quietly, and the stupid deer or whatever never even sees them coming. Or maybe it does, and it runs for a while and winds up backed against a big rock wall that mysteriously appears.  
  
The wolves surround it and seem to kind of chuckle as they advance, teeth bared, ready to leap forward and tear their victim limb from limb.  
  
If you have, you've seen the scene of my very first kidnapping (congrats).  
  
Of course, the wolves were really a group of terrorist mutant women and the stupid deer was really me (and I'm NOT stupid), but you get the basic gist.  
  
I walked in innocently enough, holding a stolen library book in one hand and a hotdog in the other. I was chewing my food and reading the book, minding my own business, ignoring the smear of ketchup on my chin (I probably looked about seven or eight), and I look up and there are at least a dozen women, all with Cheshire cat grins, staring at me.  
  
I dropped the book and my hotdog (what a waste of three bucks, eh?) and one of them snickered.  
  
Now, I love writing. That's pretty obvious, since I'm sitting here typing this whole account up for you now. But one of my favorite things about writing is describing people and things so I'm going to spend the next page and a half telling you precisely what these women looked like (bear with me. It's IMPORTANT).  
  
The one nearest to me (the lady winding the rope around her hand and walking forward) had THE perfect body (the only reason I noticed was because she was...ummm...not dressed at all), even better then my mom's, sleek and slim, but still muscular and obviously strong, definitely not someone I'd want to find myself fighting against (too bad, huh?).  
  
Her face was long and angular, with perfectly clear and smooth skin and the kind of flaming red hair that seems to tumble down just right.  
  
So, how'd I know she was a mutant?  
  
She was blue.  
  
No, I'm not talking sad-blue.  
  
I mean, her skin was the color of my eyes, shimmering eerily like sapphire water and erupting in scales—actual SCALES—in some places.  
  
Still, even the scales didn't clue me in as much as the eyes.  
  
They were yellow, scintillating with sparks of malevolence and pooled with loathing, glowing ethereally with more darkness then I'd thought anyone capable of having.  
  
The woman next to her was stunning as well, with just as nice of a body hidden under the kind of clothes my mom would wear on a good day. She had a pale, clear complexion with locks of blonde hair that fell over her oval- shaped face attractively, making her scarlet lips and icy-blue eyes stand out more than anything else. When I looked at her, she winked at me and blew me a kiss; I immediately looked to the left of the blue, scaly lady.  
  
This woman was taller than the other two, not quite as muscular but very skeletal, with white—actually WHITE, like snow— skin that was such a deep contrast to her jet black hair that it hurt my eyes. I blinked a few times before looking back at her, and studied her long face, her blood-red lips, and her crimson eyes. She was definitely the scariest-looking of the bunch.  
  
The rest of the women appeared the same way: tall and beautiful, skinny with perfect skin and hair (brown, blonde, black), and eyes (hazel, brown, blue, green, gray) that held as much evil as the next female.  
  
To say the least, I was overwhelmed just looking around at them.  
  
When they all pounced, I was done for.  
  
All I really remember is falling to the ground, screaming, someone clapping a hand over my mouth, a jumble of voices, people pulling at and tying up my arms and then a sharp prick of pain in my neck.  
  
Then it went dark.  
  
  
  
Don't you just hate that?  
  
'Then it went dark'.  
  
It's just been used so many times, it's become boring.  
  
I guess I COULD go back and change it, but I'm too lazy (hey, sue me) and I guess if I quit writing now, I'll never get back to it.  
  
I'll just make it up to you somehow, ok?  
  
Do you know the feeling of cold stone against bare skin? The sounds of whispers that seem to melt into infinite and seep into your very soul? The metallic tang of your own blood in your mouth? The awful, nauseating stench of decay in your nose?  
  
If you do, then try to remember the time in which you sensed those things. Was it a good time? Were you very happy when you could smell rotting flesh inches away from you?  
  
I didn't really think so.  
  
I wasn't either.  
  
I suppose you're wondering why I didn't tell you what I saw when I finally awoke.  
  
I didn't see anything at first.  
  
Someone had covered my eyes.  
  
I squirmed slightly, making a face as a wave of pulsing bile rose in my throat and I struggled to get away from the cause of the odor suffocating me.  
  
When I did, there was a soft chorus of muffled laughter, and a woman's voice purred, "Look who's finally awake."  
  
Of course, that just panicked me more, especially considering I'd just found that my wrists were tied together and someone had thrown an old sack over my head, and I groaned in anxiety, blinking sweat out of my eyes.  
  
I heard more chuckling and the clicking of high heels on the hard floor and I moved away from the sound, breathing hard, ignoring the throbbing heat reverberating around my face.  
  
The footsteps stopped and then someone roughly grabbed the sack above me and jerked it off, causing me to fall forward on my stomach with a gasp of pain; a bolt of agony shot through my side.  
  
More laughter, and then someone clicked her tongue, "Oh, dear. You fell. Let me help you up, Sweetheart."  
  
The entire space echoed with laughter as the woman reached down and ripped me up by my hair, earning a strangled cry and a few choice words from me.  
  
She laughed, roughly turning my chin to her face her, "Oh, Ladies. This one has a temper."  
  
I glared at her, breathing heavily through clenched teeth, humiliation ringing through my sore and burning body.  
  
"Let go," I ordered furiously, pulling my chin from her grasp, "and don't touch me."  
  
The assembled group giggled like schoolchildren and I shot them an annoyed look, "Shut up."  
  
They just laughed harder.  
  
"Teach her, Margaret!" one chirped, face turning red from laughter.  
  
I felt cool fingers wrap around my throat and tighten as I was lifted from the ground, my feet dangling maybe an inch off of the floor.  
  
Yea, it hurt.  
  
Yea I was scared.  
  
But more than that, I was furious.  
  
I wanted to tear her smirking face off.  
  
For some reason, my rebel personality had kicked in before my scared one had.  
  
Therefore, instead of crying or begging for mercy, I lashed out with my foot and caught her squarely in the chest, making her drop me on the rock floor (OUCH) and swear loudly, advancing with fists raised and eyes scintillating with livid hatred.  
  
I stayed on the floor, tugging pathetically at the thin ropes binding my arms with my teeth, scooting back from Margaret and starting to feel maybe a trifle bit afraid (I was ready to burst into tears of defeat and beg for mercy, ok?)  
  
Then, just as Margaret was within inches of me and was leaning down to flay me, she stopped and smirked maliciously as I bumped into someone's legs and winced as a hand slid down to rest softly on my head, "Playing nicely with her, aren't you, Girls?"  
  
Margaret snickered, sliding back into a spot in the crowd as she gave me a triumphant sneer.  
  
I thought about sticking my tongue out at her, but A) it seemed childish and B) I was frozen with fear so I couldn't anyway.  
  
The person behind me stooped gracefully down and turned my head with a blue- skinned hand, "Are you enjoying yourself?"  
  
I looked at her silently, masking the fear I felt, and asked, "Who are YOU?"  
  
The woman's dark lips parted in a devilish grin, revealing shocking white teeth, "I'm surprised. Most of the others always asked, 'Where am I?' when I came in."  
  
I frowned slightly, honestly confused, and slowly muttered, "...others..?"  
  
She nodded simply to my right, and I turned to where she'd indicated; immediately, the breath was swiped form my lungs and my blood caught in my veins.  
  
Slumped against a wall inches from me, with dried blood caked on the floor surrounding them, was what must have been, at one time, the bodies of children.  
  
They were all rotting by now, tossed carelessly aside by whoever had murdered them, and I noticed that they were all either chained to the walls or else locked in cages.  
  
All of their faces were frozen in screams of horror, their forms locked in fetal positions; somehow, their last cries and pleas for help echoed into my head.  
  
I was frozen in terror, my mouth slightly agape, my heart lodged in my throat, my stomach heaving; and then I seemed to snap out of my horrified trance and I turned sharply away, gasping.  
  
Everyone watched me with amused interest, remaining silent, but still ready to laugh at any given moment.  
  
After the choking waves of nausea had passed, I turned back to the blue- fleshed woman and breathed, "What did you DO to them?!?!?"  
  
She smiled slightly, reaching out and tucking a sweaty strand of my hair behind my ear, "Whatever it took, Sweetness."  
  
I could only stare at her, confusion and fear crashing over my head, until I finally croaked again, "Who are you?"  
  
She seemed thoughtful for a moment, glowing eyes flickering with wonder as she tried to decide on which words would be best to answer me.  
  
She came up with good ones.  
  
"I am many things, Dearest. I am many forms, many people, many lives, all entwined into one. I am the essence of evil and the taste of blood." She grinned, almost manically, and pulled me closer, much to the delight of her 'audience', "I am the sound of a shriek in the night, the sight of a darkened alley..."  
  
She paused and stroked my cheek, "...the feel of a blade across your flesh..."  
  
I pulled away from her, falling back and scrambling away from the insane female.  
  
The ladies were all chuckling, not loud or intrusive, simply appreciative, a sound that added to this crazy woman's speech.  
  
"I am the old woman you see waking down the street. I am the businessman who pushes past you on the subway."  
  
She had stood and was advancing on me, the two women from before (the blonde-haired one and the black-haired, red-eyed one) following close behind, grinning like devils.  
  
"LEAVE ME ALONE!" I shrieked, struggling to push myself backwards without using my still-bound wrists.  
  
"I am the mother whose children always seem to throw tantrums in the supermarket line. I am the gang member who sprays profanity on the walls of buildings..."  
  
I had crashed into the wall of surrounding women and they jerked me to my feet, pushing me forward as they chuckled at my misfortune.  
  
I stumbled and collapsed into the fanatical woman's arms, struggling for an instant, but stopping as her final words were hissed into my ear, "I am the filthy man from the hotel, the mother who keeps her daughter locked in the car while she 'pleases' men, the little girl who runs away from home and lives in a hole."  
  
She smiled at me sweetly, cradling my head in her arms, "...but you can call me Mystique."  
  
  
  
I looked up the word 'Mystique' in the dictionary once I finally got out of that Hellhole (yes, I did get out...but I'll explain that in a sec) and this is the definition:  
  
Mystique: a complex of somewhat mystical attitudes and feelings surrounding some person, institution, activity, etc.  
  
I guess you might say that it fits her like a glove, huh?  
  
Anyway, back to my 'courageous escape'.  
  
Actually, they let me go.  
  
Yea, they did.  
  
They knocked me out, carried me back to my 'hole in the wall', and left me there.  
  
Simple enough.  
  
So, why'd they take me in the first place?  
  
GREAT question.  
  
Turns out, one of the mutant women there (she was Mystique's best friend; I'll leave it at that) could see the future. She was known as Destiny, and according to her, I was going to be found by this group of other mutants known as the X-Men, who happened to be their worst enemies.  
  
Actually, that's an understatement.  
  
The way Reagan (the blonde-haired woman who was like the second-in-command) said it, the X-Men were lower then snail slime, which says quite a bit.  
  
They were hated more than anyone else by that group of women, although I didn't know why then.  
  
Anyway, I was going to be taken in by these folks, and they were going to take care of me and be all nice and all, and I was going to learn that I was a mutant (which was pretty dumb; I obviously just learned form her at that moment that I was mutant) and I would learn to control my powers and become an X-Man myself.  
  
Cool.  
  
Right. With my life, you really think it's gonna turn out that way?  
  
No.  
  
Mystique wanted me to be a kind of spy, find out things about the X-Men for them so that I could tell them and they could come in and attack/kill everyone.  
  
Great.  
  
Now, don't get me wrong; I wasn't keen on the idea of betraying ANYONE to these psychos; I'm just not that kind of person. I mean, I didn't even KNOW these 'X-Men', but I CERTAINLY didn't want them to get killed!  
  
Of course I basically told her to shove it, but once she threatened to snap my neck in half like a twig and the ladies pinned me down for her to do it, I was a lot more agreeable to their terms.  
  
I'm not proud of it or anything; I still feel bad about being such a wimp.  
  
I mean, I can't believe it took so little to make me agree to such horrific things! I saw what they could do to people, yet I still agreed to place these folks I'd never even met into their hands.  
  
So without a doubt, I felt horribly ashamed when I agreed to do as they said, but just try to imagine yourself in my place for a second.  
  
You're lying in this terribly dark and cold place where you've never been before. Your heart is thudding madly against your ribs as you struggle against the dozen or so women pinning you to the icy floor and crushing the breath from your lungs. Some strange lady that you've never met but who calls herself 'Mystique' and describes herself as 'the essence of evil' and 'the taste of blood' has her hands around your head and is telling you that, unless you promise to betray these people you've never met before, she will snap your neck in half. You're surrounded by the corpses of older people who DO have their necks snapped in half, so you know what this woman is capable of and you have no doubt in your mind that she will hurt you if you don't listen to her. Your terror has peaked to the point that you can actually hear the horrific crack as your neck falls limply to your shoulders.  
  
So what would you do?  
  
If you said you'd stay silent, toast to you.  
  
I couldn't do it.  
  
It was just too much.  
  
I snapped under the pressure and swore to her that I would be her stupid little spy.  
  
And she let me go.  
  
She actually smiled, kissed the crown of my head like she was proud of me, and then she let me go.  
  
I can't say that once I woke up I was actually able to live with my decision for a while, but after a few days the reality wore off and I was able to basically move on.  
  
I was able to treat what happened as any old nightmare and pretend that nothing was going on; nothing bad was happening.  
  
I was perfectly capable of hiding the fact that I was a horrible, treacherous monster.  
  
At least, until I met the X-Men.  
  



	4. Chapter One

Chapter One  
  
I didn't know how to swim.  
  
It's embarrassing, and it's a little funny, but even when I was almost sixteen years old and on my own, I didn't know how to swim.  
  
I'd never been taught by anyone.  
  
Pathetic, huh?  
  
But that didn't mean I didn't enjoy playing in the water.  
  
I loved it! I enjoyed sitting in the shallow end of lakes and watching children half my age squeal with delight as they dove under feet of water, and I had fun simply basking in the sunlight and letting water lap at my feet. It was relaxing to me.  
  
Oftentimes, on sunny, hot days, you could find me near some fountain or a lake somewhere with a book in my hand (I'd recently developed some kind of long-held-back thirst for reading) with my feet in the water or my entire lower half submerged.  
  
I was doing just that when I met Ororo.  
  
Kind of.  
  
In reality, she kind of met me before I met her.  
  
It was one of those extremely hot days, the ones where the sun beats down so hard that the heat from its rays cascades like water over everything under its sights. The streets were drunkenly hazy with dizzy waves of heat, and kids were basically attacking the ice-cream man.  
  
I was lounging in the pool, sweat streaming down my face, my book lying forgotten on the shore a few feet away, my head throbbing with the endless, suffocating temperatures.  
  
The lake was jam-packed with families sitting on the sand and playing in the water, children splashing and screaming and adults chatting endlessly and slathering sun block on their whining sons and daughters.  
  
I knew I was going to get sunburned, but I couldn't care less; I was feeling too sick and lazy to get up and ask to borrow some.  
  
The lake's water was cool against my flesh, lapping softly over me as I lay my head on the sand, closing my eyes and moaning; why wouldn't this headache go away?  
  
From somewhere nearby I could hear an entire school of teenagers laughing and gossiping as they put on their sunscreen, and as I watched them race to the edge of the water with their friends and playfully push each other into the water, I felt a small twinge of jealousy; by that time, I'd been completely alone and basically ignored for about three weeks, and I was desperate for company.  
  
The hubbub over my 'mysterious kidnapping/murder' had died down since I hadn't been seen in 'so long' (I'd gotten a haircut, lost weight, changed my clothes, and kept a hood over my face; of course I hadn't been seen), so I was back to being worthless, boring, and lonely.  
  
I swallowed back a lump of emotion as I saw a few of the teachers sitting together and laughing, chatting nonchalantly about this and that.  
  
Oh, what I would do for company!  
  
I almost stood and walked over to them, so strong was my desire for friendship and their aura of kindness, but instead I just closed my eyes and lay back down, adjusting the straps of my stolen bathing suit.  
  
Turns out, I didn't have to come to them.  
  
One of THEM came to ME.  
  
It happened when a group of the younger kids ran by me towards the nearby ice-cream man, dollar bills clutched tightly in their fists; they could just taste that thick ice-cream melting in their mouths.  
  
Behind them, one of the teachers followed behind, obviously to keep an eye on things and make sure the children had enough money.  
  
I watched them walk by jealously, wishing I hadn't left my money back at my 'house'; I REALLY wanted some ice-cream.  
  
My eyes opened lazily and I squinted in the sun, trying to see who had spoken.  
  
Just then, the woman stopped and looked back at me, head tilted to one side, "Hi, Honey. Do you want some ice-cream?"  
  
I immediately sat up, stunned; that was creepy.  
  
I looked around me, trying to see who she'd spoken to; I was certain one of her students had stayed behind.  
  
When I realized no one else was there and turned back to her, she was smiling kindly and extending her hand to me welcomingly, "C'mon. I'll get you a cone."  
  
I almost looked behind me once again, and then slowly pointed at myself, "...me?"  
  
She smiled and nodded, "Yes, you. Do you want some ice-cream?"  
  
I swear, my grin must have shone brighter than the sun.  
  
I immediately stood and took her hand, not caring if it may have been juvenile or dumb; I was getting ice-cream, from someone I'd never even met, who hadn't just walked right by me but had acknowledged my existence!  
  
That was a big deal to me.  
  
When we reached the ice-cream truck, we waited in line for a while, during which time she told me that her name was Ororo Monroe and that she taught at Xavier's School for Gifted Youngsters.  
  
It all worked for me; all I knew was that she was nice and that she'd bought me some ice cream.  
  
Now, maybe that's just a stupid thing to you.  
  
Maybe that's just no biggie for you if someone comes up and buys you an iucecrewam cone.  
  
But in my entire life, I had been shown very little kindness, and therefore, even small favors doted on me were magnified in my mind's eye.  
  
Later, when I was sitting on Ororo's blanket, surrounded by chatter and trying to eat my chocolate ice-cream before the sun melted it all, I secretly inspected my newest hero.  
  
She was certainly very stunning, with creamy mocha skin and a well-formed figure that was made harmlessly obvious by the pretty-yet-simple white skirt and red blouse she wore. Her hair was thick and gleaming, reminiscent of the clouds of vapor that rise form the bottom of a waterfall once it hits a pool of water. Her electric blue eyes were focused on her long nails, which were painted scarlet, but when she sensed me looking at her, they turned to me.  
  
My heart started and I turned away, cheeks burning.  
  
She simply smiled, "Are you enjoying that?"  
  
She gestured at my melted mass of cone and chocolate.  
  
I nodded as I but off a chunk, "Mmmm. Thank you again."  
  
"You're very welcome."  
  
Kurt Wagner, one of the other teachers Ororo had introduced me to, handed me a napkin and chuckled, "Mien Freund, you eat that as if you've never tasted ice-cream before in your life!"  
  
I laughed along with him, thinking, "If only you knew, Pal."; I can count the number of times I've had ice-cream on one hand.  
  
Remy LeBeau, the only other man I'd been introduced to, leaned back on his elbows and stretched before drawling, "So, Chere, what you doin here all by yo'self? Don' you have any pa'ents?"  
  
I choked on the remainder of my cone.  
  
SOMEONE just HAD to bring that up, right?  
  
To my surprise, the only other adult woman there (She'd been introduced as Jean Grey-Summers) replied, "She doesn't have any parents."  
  
Everyone stared at her, of course, but I gazed at her the hardest and sputtered, "How did you...I mean...what do you...are you...?"  
  
She smiled slightly, "It's ok, Rachael. I know already. So does everyone else."  
  
"We do?" Remy asked, eyeing me suspiciously, "Not all of us be telepaths, Jean."  
  
Kurt, seeming just as confused, frowned slightly, "What do you mean, Jean? How would we know about Rachael?"  
  
"Cuz she's the kid we've been lookin' for since two weeks ago."  
  
I looked up sharply, not realizing that a man had been standing behind me.  
  
Jean nodded slightly in acknowledgement, "Exactly, Logan."  
  
Logan uncurled his arms from his chest and stretched slightly, "She's Rachael Catherine Johansen, the kid who was supposedly murdered in her car while her mom was checking into a hotel. 'Member?"  
  
Enlightenment dawned on everyone's faces, and they leaned in to get a better look at me.  
  
My face burned with a mixture of embarrassment and anxiety; this was starting to get just a little bit uncomfortable.  
  
I leaned back into Ororo, turning my face away, "How...how do you all know about me?"  
  
Logan took a long drag on his cigarette before answering, "I recognized your scent. Jeannie here knew it was you from your brainwaves. We're mutants." He tossed his cigarette on the ground and stomped it out as he nodded at me, "Like you."  
  
I stared at him for a second, trying not to appear like I was shocked, and then turned away, "So...why are you all looking for me?"  
  
"Rachael you've heard of the X-Men haven't you?"  
  
My head snapped up so suddenly that I kinked my neck; with my heart thudding in my mouth and my blood throbbing, I slowly nodded, rubbing my sore neck.  
  
"You know that they fight for mutant-human peace and that they're Magneto's arch nemeses, but they do more than just fight and live super hero lives. They also teach at a school...OUR school, called Xavier's School for Gifted Youngsters. It's a place where mutant children and teens don't have to be ridiculed and persecuted for their powers and abilities. It's somewhere that they can be safe and learn to control their abilities and use them for good."  
  
"So...so these...the...X-Men...they're teachers, and they recruit kids for a school...their school...that they teach at...?"  
  
I knew I was starting to ramble on, but this was just getting creepy.  
  
I'd been trying hard to shove aside my encounter with Mystique as just some psycho group's idea of a practical joke.  
  
Now it was looking more and more as if it was real, and I was going to have to have my foretold 'destiny' unfold.  
  
I shook my head to scatter my thoughts, realizing that Jean was still talking, "...never force them to come, but I really think it would be a good idea, since your powers are starting to manifest themselves."  
  
I blinked, and then swallowed, "So...uh...the X-Men wanna...you want me to...come to that school?"  
  
The group laughed as Jean replied with a simple, "Yes."  
  
I smiled weakly as I began to sit up, toppling once or twice but standing with help from Ororo and Kurt, "Well...umm...it sounds really cool...and...I'd really...like to...hear more...and...well...can I...think on it?"  
  
"Of course. You don't have to make a decision right now. I know this is all a little sudden. Ororo and I probably should have gone about this a little differently..."  
  
The two men exchanged guilty glances.  
  
I glanced down at Ororo, "Huh?"  
  
She chuckled, "Well, we've been watching you really closely for the past few days, and when we saw you come to the beach, we decided it would be a good field trip for all of us. We came down here and let the students play around, and after a while, I came over and just 'absently' HAPPENED to pass by you, and then I asked if you wanted ice-cream...so you wouldn't be scared of me...or anything of that sort..."  
  
She gave me a guilty look, "I'm sorry, Rachael. We just want you to be safe, is all."  
  
Kurt nodded in agreement, looking just as blameworthy, "Yes, Frauliegn. It's really quite a dangerous place for you to be alone. The city is a big place, filled with many dangers."  
  
Remy nodded in agreement, "The elf is right, Chere. You never know who—or WHAT—you might bump into."  
  
I agreed with them both there.  
  
"Will you at least consider what we've said?" Jean asked slowly, her eyes searching me carefully, "We won't force you to do anything you don't want to, but it really is in your best interest."  
  
Now, under normal circumstances, I w0ould leapt at the chance to go to some special school where I'd be safe from my mom and anyone else. I mean, let's get real: the way they explained it, it sounded like I'd get my own room, a good education (I cared about that, since I'd never gotten one), decent food, maybe a few friends, AND I'd get to live with superheroes.  
  
Learning AND adventure.  
  
Nice.  
  
But in the back of my mind I remembered about Mystique and how much she hated these people—this sweet group of teachers who'd just shared their blanket and icecream with a complete stranger and offered to take me in.  
  
They sounded like they did this a lot.  
  
That made me feel guilty, knowing that if I DID go to that school, I'd wind up as a spy; Mystique would find me, somehow, and I knew she'd get me on her side somehow.  
  
Still, what harm could THINKING about it do?  
  
So I agreed to that much, bidding them farewell, telling them I just needed some time alone.  
  
I wandered off to a slightly secluded area of the bustling beach and settled down into the water, closing my eyes and sighing.  
  
Somehow I managed to sink into a half-asleep state, one in which I could feel the sun's beams sinking into my flesh, but wasn't uncomfortable from the heat; one in which I could smell the fresh air and taste the salty water on my lips, but wasn't afraid of drowning; one in which I could hear the screams of laughter and playing slowly begin to change into shrieks of terror...  
  
My eyes snapped open and I sat up, gasping as I felt a sudden, cold wind bite through my wet body.  
  
It had obviously been a while, as many families had packed up to leave and clouds had rushed in, bringing with them buckets of rain just waiting to cascade over the hurrying people below; already, water was drizzling over my face.  
  
However, that wasn't what had me worried; a little rain never hurt anyone.  
  
A long ways out, maybe halfway to the middle of the lake, a group of people—no, kids—were struggling, crying out for help.  
  
Already, many adults had some of them in their arms and were fighting to swim ashore, while still others held back panic-stricken parents.  
  
It looked like everything was under control and I wasn't needed; I probably should have just ignored the five-year-old girl sobbing a few feet away form me as she clutched a well-worn, slippery boulder.  
  
I watched her for a second, looking around to see if anyone could help; that was when her hands fell away from the rock and her head disappeared underwater.  
  
Right. Now I'm just supposed to let her die, right?  
  
With a loud curse and without even thinking (obviously) I leapt into the now-freezing water, somehow managing to paddle my way over to the shadowy area where the child had just been.  
  
It was a lot deeper over there, to the point that the sand slipped away from under my feet and my head sunk underwater, but I pushed myself up and clutched onto the slippery surface of whatever I could find, looking desperately around for some sign of the girl.  
  
As it turns out, she found me first.  
  
Soon as I reached the spot she'd been, and as soon as she managed to battle her way to the surface, she attacked me, screaming for help and wailing.  
  
As she threw herself at me and wrapped her arms around my neck, I felt my control slip away and we both were dragged underwater.  
  
Being held underwater by a terrified little girl is definitely one of the more frightening experiences I've ever had in my life. The water was everywhere at once, sucking us both down into the depths of the lake, pushing in from all sides and squeezing the air from our lungs.  
  
As soon as my feet hit the bottom, I gave an almighty kick and struggled to the surface, trying to pry the girl's arms from around my throat so I could take in a breath. I was unsuccessful, of course, but at least she was able to scream loud enough for someone onshore to hear her.  
  
I heard a few startled yells and the sound of people running through the water, and at first my hopes rose, but then we were jerked under again, and water rushed into my mouth and nose. I panicked, having never had the experience of stinging lake water crashing to my lungs, so I opened my mouth to spit it out and wound up sucking more in.  
  
That about did it for me.  
  
Both the little girl and I started flailing desperately, trying to get air anyway we could, just wishing to get the heck outta there.  
  
Now, I'm really not sure what on earth happened, but I somehow managed to pull myself together long enough to push her above me so she would be seen first and be rescued, and I tried to kick up again from the bottom, but no matter which way I went, there was just more water.  
  
Eventually, the kid slid out of my arms, and I didn't know if she'd passed out and fallen to her death or if someone had found her and taken her to safety.  
  
All I knew was that my lungs were screaming for breath and my brain seemed to have short-circuited; all it was doing was screaming at me to breathe. I was pushing against the water as hard as I could, starting sob in fear, really starting to wish (not for the first or last time) that I'd never even left my mom's stupid car.  
  
Those last few minutes were sheer agony, not in physical terms, but simply in mental and emotional; there's nothing worse than being completely alone at the dark depths of a lake, knowing that you're probably going to be left there and knowing that no one knows who you are or where you're from.  
  
It was enough to make anyone go nuts.  
  
Luckily, after a few seconds, my brain started to fog up and my blood froze, calming me a lot more than I thought was possible.  
  
All I really remember after that is closing my eyes, sighing, and realizing that no air came out.  
  
Just more water.  
  
  
  
Whoa.  
  
I look around, hugging my chest and shivering, walking over the rain- drenched sand, to where the crowds of people are.  
  
What's everyone doing here? Why do they look so scared?  
  
I slowly duck and weave my way through the whispering people, the sounds of urgent voices and sobbing echoing to my ears.  
  
Finally, the group in front of me parts, and I see myself lying on the sand, my face pale and my lips blue, my entire body limp and drenched with water. It is raining on everyone, but nobody cares; they are watching me.  
  
Why?  
  
I slowly look down at my hands and then at my body lying a few feet away from me; what's going on here?  
  
Then I notice Ororo and Remy kneeling next to me, both of them talking to me and begging me to wake up.  
  
I slowly wander over to them and sit down next to myself, tilting my head and shivering; I look like I'm made of wax.  
  
Remy is doing rescue breathing, pausing between breaths to gasp out, "C'mon, Petite, come back to us...come back, petite..."  
  
Ororo has tears rolling down her cheeks and has her hands on my chest; every once in a while she gasps, "Clear!" and presses down on my flesh, hard.  
  
Electric bolts dance from her fingertips and into my chest.  
  
That is Rachael lying there.  
  
Me, Rachael.  
  
Rachael Catherine Johansen is lying on the sand next to me, dead.  
  
And I'm watching her.  
  
How is this happening?  
  
I slowly reach out to touch my cheek; my skin is cold like ice.  
  
I jerk my fingers back as tears pool in my eyes; I don't want to die yet.  
  
I'm only sixteen, I can't go yet.  
  
I still want to learn how to drive and I want to see my mutant powers and get married and have kids.  
  
I can't die.  
  
I can't.  
  
I poke myself in the side, "Get up."  
  
"Clear!"  
  
I see my body jerk with convulsions form the electricity, but I'm still not alive.  
  
"C'mon, wake up!"  
  
I hit her on the chest, hard, "You dope! Wake UP!"  
  
Then I start laughing; cracking up, really.  
  
I'm yelling at myself, beating myself up, calling myself dope; it just seemed so hilarious at that moment.  
  
"CLEAR!"  
  
Ororo's voice is choked with tears.  
  
That gets me mad.  
  
I angrily shake Rachael, "C'mon! Wake up, Stupid! Stop it now! You're not gonna die! It's not time yet! You're too young! Wake up! WAKE UP!"  
  
"CLEAR!"  
  
I feel a sudden bolt of pain shoot through my body and I pause, clutching my chest; what was THAT?  
  
I can suddenly feel a pressure on my lungs, like something is blocking the oxygen that I so desperately need.  
  
The crowd before me is evaporating, and I'm growing dizzy, my eyes rolling back into my head as I try to get to my feet.  
  
I fall then, crashing to the sand and rolling on my back.  
  
  
  
My eyes snapped open and the first thing I remember doing is coughing up what felt like the entire lake.  
  
My mouth and throat were both raw and sore, so it felt like spitting up fire when all of that water came out, and I cried like a baby, feeling simply overwhelmed.  
  
Ororo instantly pulled me into her arms and held me, and a lot of people were talking at once, clapping and cheering because I was ok. I hardly noticed any of them, though, because I was still so scared and in pain.  
  
"Ssshh...it's ok," soothed Ororo rocking me in her arms, "You're safe now, Honey. It's alright..."  
  
I'd never had a 'real' mother.  
  
You know that, since you've been reading thus far.  
  
So, of course, I have no clue as to what a real mother would possibly look like, or act like, or talk like.  
  
But at that moment, with an almost-complete stranger cradling me in her arms and brushing my hair back and soothing me, I thought, "This must be what a mom is like."  
  
You can think it's corny, and you can roll your eyes and scoff, but since this is MY story, I'm going to tell you what MY thoughts were.  
  
And that's what I thought.  
  
I was still crying, my 'scared' personality completely in charge, and I was just feeling totally helpless and babyish, but I didn't care at the moment; you try seeing yourself lying dead and then wake up and spit out an entire lake of water and see how you feel.  
  
It was then that Remy stooped before me, pushing his sopping bangs away from his eyes and smiling at me, "You ok, Cherie? You gave Gambit a heart attack, layin dere like a dead fish."  
  
I nodded slowly, allowing his words to slowly sink into my mind; I reacted a little slowly, but finally looked up at him sharply, "D-did...did you just say 'Gambit'?"  
  
He nodded, confused, "Yea. Dat just my nickname, Cherie. Why?"  
  
My hand went instinctively to the 'sunkiss' on my cheek, and I felt myself blush as I smiled softly and averted my eyes, "...no reason."  
  
He seemed a little quizzical at first, but he dropped it eventually, shaking his head as the wailing of sirens began to shatter the still air.  
  
"Who called an ambulance?" Ororo asked quietly as several physicians came running towards us.  
  
Jean narrowed her eyes quizzically, "I don't know..."  
  
Kurt shrugged, "Probably one of the onlookers...this is a good thing, no? Now she will be taken to a hospital and will be safe. Right?"  
  
No one answered as a young medical officer took me from Ororo's arms and laid me on a stretcher, strapping me down and sliding an oxygen mask over my face.  
  
He smiled at me warmly and patted my cheek with his gloved hand, "You're gonna be ok, Honey."  
  
"I want Ororo to come," I replied quickly, heart thudding against my chest as his partners lifted the stretcher and began to take me to the ambulance.  
  
The young man frowned in confusion, "Which one's Ororo?"  
  
"The one with white hair."  
  
By then I was being slid into the ambulance and being introduced to the nurses onboard, but I know for certain that the man told Ororo to come; she appeared at my side as one of the nurses slid an IV into my wrist.  
  
I smiled when I saw her, and then cried out sharply as the needle entered my veins, earning a rushed apology from the medical staff.  
  
Ororo took my hand and squeezed it reassuringly, reaching out and tucking a strand of hair behind my ear, "You ok?"  
  
I nodded weakly, starting feel indescribably sleepy.  
  
"Vitals steady; increase oxygen to sixty; IV in?"  
  
The medical jabber was almost as overwhelming as the smell of alcohol.  
  
"What's gonna happen?" I asked Ororo weakly, "What are they gonna do?"  
  
"They're just going to make sure you're ok, Honey. They'll release you soon enough. I promise. They just need to make sure you're ok."  
  
"I'm fine," I muttered, yawning, "...just...tired..."  
  
"Vitals normal; increase oxygen to eighty."  
  
My brain was swimming with exhaustion; my eyelids seemed weighed down with sand.  
  
I slowly looked around the ambulance, watching the doctors as they adjusted machines and attached different tubes tpo me; it all seemed so unreal.  
  
One nurse in particular caught my eye; there was just something about her that seemed so familiar.  
  
I studied her for awhile, racking my sleepy mind for any memory that had her in it.  
  
Eventually, she came over holding an alcohol-drenched cotton ball and some kind of injection; she smiled at me sympathetically, "Ok, Sweetness. This is just gonna sting for a second, ok? Then you won't feel a thing."  
  
Her voice was eerily familiar too.  
  
It was when she was cleaning off my arm for the shot that I knew who she was.  
  
I turned to Ororo sharply, my mouth going dry, "Ororo! She's...she's..."  
  
I trailed off as Ororo raised her eyebrows questioningly, blue eyes flashing bright yellow for a second.  
  
Her lips curled into a vehement sneer as the ambulance around me began to fade away, replaced by the interior of a spacious, dimly-lit car.  
  
The rest of the medical people disappeared as well, leaving behind just the one nurse with the vaccination, who was in reality (like I'd finally found out) the blonde chick from my supposed 'nightmare'.  
  
"God, why is this happening?" I screamed, only to find out I had a cloth tied around my mouth.  
  
"Because you just aren't easy to work with, Doll," the 'nurse' replied, and then jabbed me with the needle.  
  
I looked over to Mystique and gave her a pitiful look, "Why are you doing this to me? I wanna go home! Just let me go home! PLEASE!"  
  
She just snickered at me and spoke to the other woman, "Be sure to get it all in her blood, Reagan; otherwise, she'll wake up too soon."  
  
Well, at least now I knew the lady's name.  
  
Reagan.  
  
How nice.  
  
Too bad the character didn't fit the description.  
  
"I wanna go home," I moaned, "I wanna go home...let me go, please? Please let me go home! Please..."  
  
My eyes slowly began to droop shut, my earlier fatigue attacking with ten times as much power.  
  
"I wanna go home...please...just let me go..."  
  
At one point, I felt one of the two (Mystique or Reagan) lean over me and kiss my forehead sardonically before hissing, "Sweet dreams, Dearest."  
  
"...wanna go home..."  
  
I fell asleep whispering those same words over and over.  
  



	5. Chapter Two

Aloha!  
  
How's everyone? I'm good.  
  
This chapter took me literally...uh...an hour to write. I think. So, if it seems sucky, don't blame me. Blame the clock. *grin* It gets VIOLENT so close your eyes if you get scared, ok? *laughs and wipes tears from eyes* I'm so clever.  
  
Pendragon: Once again, making my day bright! (and she called me luv!) Hope you enjoy this, Dear! 'Tis dedicated to YOU! *banners, trumpets and all that hubbub* CONGRATS!  
  
Shadow Kat: Hey! How are you? I'm good. So, I'm updating! Good ol' me! You're gonna HATE me for this cliffy, tho! MWAHAHAHAHA!  
  
TO EVERYONE: I LOVE YOU! *bursts into melodramatic tears of affection and whatnot* OK. I feel better.  
  
OMWARD AND FORWARD AND ALL THAT!  
  
  
  
Chapter 2  
  
You know those times when you wake up suddenly from a nightmare in the night, and your heart is thudding in your throat, and your blood has managed to freeze in your sleep, and you can't stop shaking while you try to uin6tangle yourself from your sweaty blankets?  
  
You can't remember your dream, but you know it was awful; the last few seconds of it are just starting to slip away like water through your mental fingers, and no matter how hard you try, you forget it completely, and it leaves you more terrified then ever.  
  
Usually when that happens, you sit for a second, shaking in the dark, and then slowly slide out of bed (avoiding that dreaded under-the-bed space where you just know someone's hand is going to come out and grab your ankle) and, wrapping a blanket around you like you always did as a little kid, you stumble for your parents room.  
  
Even I did that with MY mom when I was scared, and she'd let me get in bed with her so I'd go back to sleep.  
  
But what would happen if you woke up from a nightmare like that and you were all alone, with nothing but darkness and terror to hold you?  
  
What if you were someplace you hated, like the basement or the attic, and it was completely dark and cold, and you couldn't untangle yourself form the blankets that bound you to your bed?  
  
What would you do?  
  
When I woke up in a cold, vacant shed with a blanket twisted around my tense body and my face covered with a sac, I immediately started to panic.  
  
Breathing heavily, my face bathed with sweat, I felt tears well in my eyes and I blinked them back furiously, trying to remember what had happened before I'd fallen asleep.  
  
I needed to know where I was.  
  
I needed to know what was happening.  
  
I managed to calm myself down enough to free myself from the blanket and then I pulled the sack form my head, inhaling deeply and enjoying the refreshing wave of iciness that hit my face.  
  
I was surrounded by your average, day-to-day shed stuff—bikes, gardening stuff, tools, and a few ropes—and judging from the slit of moonlight trickling in form the base of the door, it was still night.  
  
I sat up painfully, stretching and groaning as I headed cautiously towards the door, my memories of Mystique and Reagan only just starting to come back.  
  
My hand slid easily over the loose, cool doorknob, and it creaked only slightly as I turned it and pushed the door open, standing back expectantly as light spilled into the shed.  
  
I winced in slight pain as my eyes adjusted and then stepped into the night, my bare feet instantly registering how cold the grass was.  
  
The yard was large and grassy, fenced in with tall, black iron gates and flooded with moonlight that seemed oddly distorted in the shadow of the menacing building it hovered over.  
  
I bit my lip and took a hesitant step forward, my muscles rigid with anxiety, my heart drumming against my ribs.  
  
As I neared the building, I tried to ignore the darkness that seemed to close in around me and seep into my very flesh; it made me shiver to think of it.  
  
I was still in my bathing suit; I realized that as I neared the back door.  
  
Self-consciously, I allowed my gaze to flicker down my bikini-clad form, "The LEAST they coulda done was given me some decent CLOTHES..."  
  
My eyes jumped up at the same time my heart did; I saw a movement to my right.  
  
I turned and glared at the shadows, my mouth dry, "Who is it?"  
  
I was surprised by how brave I sounded; I was feeling a little jumpy at the moment.  
  
After I received no answer and saw nothing else, I relaxed slightly and managed a nervous giggle, "I...I must be losing it..."  
  
A twig snapped and I screamed, darting forward mindlessly.  
  
I know there must have been sometime when you've gotten yourself so worked up and so afraid that you've just ran, for no particular reason, and in no particular direction, right?  
  
That's what I did.  
  
I just ran.  
  
After that one sharp cry, I turned and ran, looking behind me to see just WHAT kind of monster was out to get me, knowing I must have still been dreaming.  
  
Betcha know what's gonna happen next right?  
  
I'm running, looking over my shoulder for the monster that's supposedly going to appear behind me and start to chase me.  
  
Yep.  
  
The 'monster' is in front of me.  
  
I never even watched where I was going.  
  
I just ran straight into Mystique's arms and shrieked when I saw her, much to her pleasure.  
  
She chuckled, "Having a rough night, Rachael?"  
  
I pushed away from her and turned, stumbling forward into Reagan and the red-eyed chick.  
  
Immediately, the entire yard disappeared and was replaced by the dark, dungeon-like room that I'd been dragged to when I'd first been kidnapped by these psychos.  
  
Everyone was there, including good-old Margaret.  
  
Reagan roughly grabbed my arms and turned me around to face Mystique, laughing along with the other women.  
  
"LEAVE ME ALONE YOU PSYCHOS!" I screamed, struggling against Reagan's grip and lashing out at Red-eye with my fists.  
  
Mystique stood back slightly and watched in amusement, one arm balanced lightly on her hip.  
  
After a few seconds of watching me fruitlessly try to beat the crap out of thin air, she nodded at this hooded thing in the back that made its way through the crowd and up to me in seconds,.  
  
Reagan and Red-eye both dropped me, backing away and snickering as they joined Mystique.  
  
I looked around, gasping with fatigue as the women backed against the walls with almost fearful respect, their eyes on the hooded person.  
  
I glanced up, exhaustion blurring my eyes, expecting some kind of devil to suddenly burst forth and devour me whole.  
  
Instead, when two surprisingly beautiful hands lowered the hood, I felt myself exhale with shock; one of the most stunning women I'd ever seen stared back at me, her face expressionless, her eyes considering me.  
  
Her hair was as black as night, her long tresses shimmering ethereally as they fell over her milk-white face, flowing like water over her shoulders and back. Her lips were redder then blood, turned up only slightly in a neutral-smile, her darker-than-dark blue eyes glinting slightly.  
  
I stared at her in shock, wondering why on EARTH she would wear a hood, about to ask her the question myself, when her lips parted in a devilish grin, revealing pearly teeth, and her eyes flashed with hatred; in an instant the rest of her cloak fell off and I understood.  
  
My shriek was long and shrill, filled with the shock and horror that cannot be described, but only felt.  
  
Her body was that of any other naturally beautiful woman's—tall, slender, beautifully built.  
  
However, sprouting from her back and sides like branches, writhing and twisting like snakes, were long, barbed vines that curled and slashed uncontrollably at everything nearby.  
  
In an instant she was upon me, and I stumbled backwards away from her as her vines wrapped around my arms and waist and lifted me into the air as easily as if I was a Barbie doll.  
  
Dragging me to her, the woman smiled at me coldly as she held my face between her hands, "Such a pretty child...it's such a PITY I'm going to have to RUIN you..."  
  
Her voice was syrupy-sweet, and as it trickled to my sub-conscious, I felt myself panic.  
  
"NO! No, please! Leave me ALONE!"  
  
She simply laughed as a cool, smooth vine slid between my lips, silencing my cries, "Hush now. Mystique wishes to speak to you, Love."  
  
With that, she turned me around to face Mystique, who immediately chuckled as she observed me, "My, my, how the mighty have fallen!"  
  
The women all laughed appreciatively, and I simply gazed at her quietly, feeling more than slightly defeated.  
  
"You know, Rachael Dear, you should give up your entire tough act." She gripped my chin with one hand as she sneered, "Cute as it is, we just don't have the time for it."  
  
I pulled away from her and tried to kick her, but the second my foot lashed out, a vine snaked out from nowhere and bound my legs together.  
  
My fear was starting to ebb away into anger; I hated this out-of-control feeling.  
  
"Boy, she's got a temper!" one women stated as Mystique avoided my fruitless tries at hitting her.  
  
The room was reverberating with laughter, and it was driving me insane.  
  
I was struggling desperately, trying to strike out with my hands, my feet—anything.  
  
I couldn't stand this; this was nothing but humiliation.  
  
While it seemed to amuse the women surrounding me, Mystique eventually lost interest in entertainment; time to get down to business.  
  
With the slightest smirk, she gestured for quiet; soon enough, chuckles died down and the only noise heard was my heavy breathing as I struggled to escape.  
  
Mystique nodded to the woman holding me, "Ivy," and I was set on the floor, arms still bound, mouth still gagged, but legs freed at least.  
  
However, that did me little good; before I'd fully realized that my feet were on solid ground, Mystique was before me, one hand tilting my face up to hers, the other drawn innocently against her back.  
  
"I suppose you want to know why you're here, right?" she asked softly, staring down at me condescendingly; before I could even start to reply, she brought her free hand back behind her and brought it sharply forward, giving me a powerful blow to my abdomen.  
  
I exhaled sharply in pain and collapsed to my knees, gasping for breath and clenching my teeth in agony.  
  
She didn't even let me fully recover before she stooped down slightly and grabbed my chin again.  
  
"I thought I was perfectly clear," she said softly, with enough rage to send chills down my spine, "of what was expected of you."  
  
Her hand came down across my cheek so fast I barely had time to register the pain I felt; one second I was staring up at her again and the next I was sprawled on the floor, my cheek on fire. Mystique straightened, walking slowly around to my other side, her yellow eyes never leaving my form for an instant, "Perhaps you simply didn't understand what I said..."  
  
I cried out sharply as her boot caught me harshly in the ribs, forcing me to roll onto my back.  
  
"...look at me when I'm talking to you."  
  
I blinked back tears and forced myself to look up at her as she continued, "Was I or was I not perfectly clear with you on our last meeting, Rachael?"  
  
I tried to reply, but the vine choked my response so that it was inaudible; that just made her more angry.  
  
I screamed loudly in agony as she kicked me again, shouting, "I ASKED a question, now GIVE ME AN ANSWER!"  
  
"I'm t-trying!" I stammered through the vine, tears starting to stream down my cheeks.  
  
She scoffed at me and shook her head, waving dismissively at Ivy, who carelessly tore her vines form, slitting my flesh with a few stray thorns as she did so.  
  
I lay on the floor, gasping for breath, until another kick aimed at my back jerked me back to reality, "YES! You...w-were...clear..."  
  
"Then WHY, may I ask, have you so foolishly denied the invitation to Xavier's school?" she hissed, grabbing a handful of my hair and pulling me up to my knees.  
  
Cringing in agony, choking on sobs, I quietly replied, "I-I...I was just...I thought...it was all...a-a...n-night-m-mare."  
  
A few women snickered at that, until Mystique's murderous gaze silenced them, "You assumed that our meeting was simply a NIGHTMARE?"  
  
I nodded, "Y-yes."  
  
Her lips pulled back in a lethal sneer as she lowered her mouth to my ear, "Then PERHAPS I should give you PROOF of our encounter?"  
  
I started to object, but she pressed her fingers against my lips to silence me, "Shshh...now's not the time to argue, Sweetness. Just accept what will happen and LEARN FROM IT."  
  
It was then that a sharp, sudden explosion of pain erupted throughout my body and I screamed, arcing my back as Ivy's barbed vines seared across my bare flesh.  
  
I stumbled forward into Mystique, trying to get away from the cause of my agony, but she held me there, her eyes regarding me coldly as I shrieked, Ivy's thorns tearing across my skin like razors.  
  
"PLEASE! PLEASE LET ME GO! I'LL GO TO XAVIER'S! PLEASE, JUST STOP HURTING ME!"  
  
Mystique held up a hand to Ivy and the pain subsided.  
  
I fell collapsed against her, trembling and sobbing pathetically, trying to ignore the feeling of blood trickling down my back, "I promise...I'll go...I'll go...just don't hurt me anymore...please don't hurt me..."  
  
Mystique held me to her chest, lips curved into a wicked smile, "I knew you'd see reason, Sweetness."  
  



End file.
